I'm confused about the name of the dog nuzzling me nose to
nose. Is this Pippin, Rosie, Enzo or Ellie? There's at least six of these small
breeds: Shih Tzus, Pugs, Beagles, Spaniels, Terriers, Cockapoos, and mixes of
them all, that wander the dog park and eventually wind up on my lap.

While I fancy the larger dogs -- the Goldens, Labradors, and
blends of the two -- these big guys are like adolescents, racing after each
other, wrestling a bit, and then resuming their manic chasing.

"Which is yours?" The question came from a
fairytale blond seated next to me on the bench. While she waited for my answer,
her eyes tracked the tiny mounds of grass, trees, and ponds, ready to coo when
I pointed out my pet.

I hesitated a bit, and then confessed, "Um, I don't
have a dog." I said this quietly for I didn't want the word to spread that
I was an imposter, someone pretending to have a pet and worse, planning to
snatch one.

"I just moved into the building a week ago," I quickly
added, "and don't have a pet. But, I've had Golden Retrievers in the past
and miss being around dogs." What I didn't say -- because I wanted to
avoid pity or solutions -- was that my budget couldn't squeeze in bills for vet,
dog food, or boarding during planned trips to Los Angeles. Those details could
wait.

This must've mollified her, because she then introduced me
to a bench friend and pets. "That's Enzo and
my Ellie," she said. At the sound of their names, the two dogs paused
briefly in their rounds, lifted their button-sized ears, glanced toward their
owners, and then renewed their mini trots.

My plot was working. I remembered how my two dogs swiftly
introduced me to friends in new neighborhoods, so I was trying it again, but this
time, without my own furry one in the crowd. I knew that dog owners are drawn
to each other like long-lost relatives.Instead of DNA, the bond is affection and addiction to animals.

But as I think of it, there was one dog-induced friendship
that didn't go smoothly. The time was 1990; I was 52 and separated from my
husband of 30 years. While a bit sad at the split, I was also giddy because I
relished the fresh freedom. "I eat pizza on the couch while watching TV,"
I told friends, which at the time seemed the epitome of new beginnings.

With my Golden Retriever, Sasha, I met -- let's call her
Lauren -- and her dog Midnight. (Not his real name either.) She was likely 20
years younger than I, but we bonded because we were single women with dogs.

Lauren and I met daily. We walked our dogs together. We
visited each other's homes. We sat on bare and carpeted floors to continue our
conversations and simultaneously stroke our pets. We were best friends. Then David
entered the picture. (Of course, fictitious name.)

I had met David at a singles event and was immediately
beguiled because he was the opposite of my husband. David smoked small cigars
and pot, drove fast, ate revolting food, and was into New Age philosophy. And
because I was feeling like a kid released from a long, intense residency in a
boarding school, all of this made me aflutter.

Now, one of David's proclivities that I didn't include in
the above line-up was that he related easily to women. Because of that, he had
many female fans that relished his heart-to-heart conversations.

Lauren became one of them. "We're only friends,"
she said, when I claimed discomfort about their intense relationship. David
seconded, "You have no reason to be jealous."

But their words didn't appease; I coveted their intimacy. Eventually,
I wrote a long -- quite excellent and well-reasoned -- letter to the both of
them, breaking off my bonds. They protested I was off base, but neither chose
me over the other.

Now that I consider that time with Lauren and David, I
wonder who was the imposter in that dog-engendered relationship? Was it Lauren
posing as my friend so she could snuggle with David? Was it David believing his
female friendships wouldn't evolve into something more? Or was it I, in a
pseudo romance where I pretended to embrace David's unhealthy and risky
lifestyle, but in truth rejected it?

Okay, I'll cop to being a bit of a fraud 35 years ago, but
today in this dog park, I'm not trying to fool anyone: Bring on the pooches.